


Summer Silence

by shen



Category: NINE PERCENT (Band), 偶像练习生 | Idol Producer (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, mature themes, yeah idk how to tag this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-14
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-06-10 06:09:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15285369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shen/pseuds/shen
Summary: In the summer silence, getting violent, doing nothing.Cai Xukun has a hard time remembering things and Zhu Zhengting’s tired of being broken. They run away together.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration from a variety of songs, the most prominent of which are "Mama's Gun" by Glass Animals and "Cocoon" by Milky Chance and much of the Arctic Monkeys.

Xukun doesn’t remember much. Doesn’t really want to.  
  
  


So he doesn’t think as he lays on the middle of the freeway. Feels the hard gravel nipping into his skin like pins. Takes in the heat of the road against his back, rubbed hot and raw by screeching black tires of cars. He can still hear the screaming of those metal bastards in the distance. None heading his way, for now. He almost wishes they would.  
  
  


Almost.  
  
  


Because — fuck, he really can’t remember and it's annoying him to no end. Okay, take it from the beginning. He had to drive something, or someone to somewhere. Somewhere that was days away. It was probably something illegal, because Los Angeles's just like that. But money was promised. _Lots of it_. For some reason he remembers that. Anyways, he was running from the police so he needed it. Thought he had killed his brother. He didn’t. Or maybe he did, he doesn’t remember. Doesn’t fucking matter. But he needed cash badly because he had nothing. And fast. So he inhaled whatever drug was given to him to keep him awake and drove for four days straight. No stops, no sleep, no nothing. Then he passed out.  
  
  


And woke up in a strip club. There was a man on top of him, smoldering eyes encased by grey contacts and dark makeup, pale skin caged in tight black ripped jeans and a loose black blouse that was slipping down to expose his shoulders, neck, collarbones. His reddish lipsticked mouth was sucking bruises on to Xukun's jawline and neck, thighs pressing against his own. Real pretty. His name’s Zhengting. Xukun's never thought himself gay, though he starts considering it after seeing him. But Xukun’s never slept with a man and didn't plan to anytime soon and pushed him off because Zhengting's touch felt too real against his skin. Maybe it was just because Zhengting's well versed in his trade, but Xukun’s been with his share of sex workers and it’s never felt like _that._ Or maybe it’s because Xukun felt too brain dead and vulnerable and was overthinking it. Either way, he wasn't interested in having another self-crisis. Then he asked Zhengting what day it was. He told him, _Monday_. That doesn’t make sense, because Xukun started driving on a Monday, so there’s no way it's still that day, but he doesn’t think it’s already been a week. So he asked the date. Zhengting told him, _June 28th_ and Xukun’s blood ran cold because he had left on May 24th.  
  
  


A month of blackout.  
  
  


Zhengting asked him what was wrong and Xukun laughed for a straight ten minutes. _Everything,_ he had said in response, but nothing more than that. He didn't know what the fuck he did the past month. He couldn't remember what he was forgetting. And he had a gut feeling he did something awful, because there was this torturous vacant feeling in his stomach that makes him want to throw up every bit of his organs to rid of whatever turmoil was in there and he’s sure nothing can ever cover it up, not even an attempt to drink himself to near death. And he doesn’t know if the police are still after him. Probably. They might still think he killed his brother. And whatever shit he did the past month that's making him feel so damned guilty probably adds up. He got up to leave even though he really didn’t know what the hell he’s gonna do. But the place was humid of smoke and intoxication and sin and sex and it throbs with loud shit music and he wanted to leave. Zhengting got up too, and told him, _Take me with you_.  
  
  


Xukun thought that was pretty weird.  
  
  


But he did. No questions about it.  
  
  


Now they’re here.  
  
  


1:44 AM.  
  
  


Xukun’s still laying on the freeway, thinking but also not thinking. A few steps away Zhengting leans against the car they stole from a gas station, because Xukun doesn’t know where the fuck his old one went. His eyes are fixed upwards to the sky, blankly staring at the blackness, gaze brittle and bleak. He doesn’t register the stars because there’s too much but at the same time nothing going on in his mind while the hole inside his stomach seems to be wallowing deeper. It’s almost unbearable.  
  
  


Again, he almost wishes a car would run him over so he’d stop feeling it. But only almost, because now he’s got the prettiest boy with him and he doesn’t think he wants to give that up yet.  
  
  


He hears Zhengting say, “We need to go.”  
  
  


And laughs in response. “Where?”  
  
  


Zhengting doesn’t say anything back.  
  
  


Xukun speaks again. “I think I killed someone.” Then he thinks about his month of blackout and the feeling of guilt screams into his ears and he changes his answer. "Maybe even two. I don’t remember."  
  
  


No response.  
  
  


“Would you hate me if I did?”  
  
  


“No. I wouldn’t give a shit."  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
The next morning.  
  
  


“We need money. Lots of it."  
  
  


Zhengting squints at him from the passenger seat. “I have it.”  
  
  


“I don’t know how much you make as a prostitute but we need more. We need to last longer."  
  
  


“What do you propose?”  
  
  


Xukun takes a drag on his just-lit cigarette and exhales a fleeting cloud. Watches it fade, then makes eye contact with Zhengting again. “Still using your body, maybe, but in a different way.” He rakes his gaze from the other’s neck up to his lips. His lipstick has wore off but his mouth is still red from its stain. Still pretty. He tempted to touch. He doesn’t.  
  
  


Zhengting stares coldly back. “There’s a reason I asked you to take me away from that place yesterday. I don't plan on returning to that life."  
  
  


“Nobody's gonna touch you. I’ve got an idea that’ll get us a bit more than the couple hundreds you get, and I’ll be there too. Trust me on this.”  
  
  


He doesn’t know why he says that when they’ve only known each other for 11 hours.  
  
  


But Zhengting agrees anyways.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  
They drive to a club. One that’s rumored to be where the rich fuckers go to when they’re bored of their wives. Exactly who they want to steal from.  
  
  


They agree on a plan and Zhengting changes clothes, retouches his makeup, and heads into the club first. Xukun stays behind for a bit. Waits a few minutes in the car. He opens the glove compartment and eyes the gun. They had found it when they were rummaging through the car, looking to see if the beast they stole had anything good. Sort of. A gun is pretty good. Though the previous owner is a fool to leave it somewhere so expected, if they were trying to hide it.  
  
  


Xukun debates bringing it. Because he really doesn’t feel safe. He knows how to use a gun so he’s not afraid about about being reckless. But if he’s caught with it, well he’s not sure how that’ll turn out.  
  
  


He takes it anyway, and locks the holster against the skin of his waist, underneath his shirt because he’s paranoid. Slides the gun in, cold, black, and heavy. Straightens his button up shirt and then fixes his jacket over it all. Everything's hidden. He walks in.  
  
  


There’s a lot of people, as expected with its large venue. At least the music isn’t as crappy as the place where he first met Zhengting. The people in here look better off too, not the usual desperate low-lives spending the last bits of their salary for pleasure to distract from their shitty lives. But it’s not like Xukun can judge.  
  
  


It doesn’t take too long to find Zhengting, who’s already captured someone’s attention, his slender figure already dipping and curving towards the older man with feigned interest, hooded eyes and a sultry smile alluring him closer. It’s fucking annoying to watch him give that kind of attention to someone else. But Xukun forces himself to look away and searches around for someone nearby to talk to so he can keep an eye on Zhengting without looking too out of place. He sees a girl on her phone standing on the side by herself. She looks older than him, but not by much. He walks over and positions himself to her left side where he can clearly see Zhengting to their right a few steps away. With her dyed blonde hair and stylish fashion, she’s pretty. Not as pretty as Zhengting.  
  
  


Whatever. He puts his own charms to use. A confident smirk, suggestive gaze, an offer to buy her a drink, then an introduction of himself as “August.” Because he’s not taking risks. He doesn’t hear her name over blaring music, singing, cheering, and yells. Or maybe he just couldn’t remember it. Not that he cares. She’s a little shy at first, but she’s buying his words and gestures, getting comfortable, starting to call him handsome and her hands with dark nail polish start roaming across his chest. It distracts him enough while he’s sneaking glances towards the scene in front of them as the man start running his hands on Zhengting’s waist and lower. He’s burning for some reason as he watches but chokes down his drink and focuses more on the vibrant scent of the girl’s perfume.  
  
  


Then Zhengting and his partner start to move from their seats. Zhengting's head starts moving left and right, seeming to scan the area, looking for Xukun. They meet eyes. Suddenly the scorching vexation disappears, but only for a moment, and Xukun gives a slight nod to him in assurance. Only for a second. It’s good enough. They have each other’s backs.  
  
  


The girl’s about to kiss him and Xukun puts his fingers to her lips to block it. “Sorry,” he says. It’s a lie because he doesn’t give a damn. He’s not sorry for anything. “Not feeling the chemistry between us.” At least that one’s the truth. He slips away from her, melting into the nebulae of dark figures, and doesn’t look back. He follows Zhengting and the man through the crowd. He’s sure to keep his distance even though he knows that there’s no one here sober or interested enough to care, but just in case.  
  
  


By the time he’s caught up with them he’s outside. The man’s got Zhengting cornered to a wall, a bit isolated from the parking view. But not Xukun.  
  
  


He watches as they progress to making out. The burning in his veins he felt earlier gets louder.  
  
  


The plan was for him to walk by like a random drunk passersby, while feeling for a wallet, phone, anything in the man’s pockets, who’s too intoxicated from both alcohol and Zhengting’s sultriness. Seems hard and unrealistic but Xukun’s got sort of a talent for pick pocketing with his quick fingers and keeping his presence almost unnoticeable. He doesn’t really remember how he developed that.  
  
  


He thinks he’s a little too angry for just stealing like that though. He starts hearing Zhengting’s muffled moans. The sparks in his mind and the pounding in his ears gets a little too loud for him to think straight.  
  
  


Suddenly he blanks out. It's completely black for a few seconds.  
  
  


Oh.  
  
  


Wait.  
  
  


The gun’s in Xukun's hand now. Huh. He doesn’t even remember taking it out. But he can feel the tension in his wrists from the recoil. He definitely shot it then. Out of instinct, he starts looking around if anybody's noticed. The few people in the parking lot don't seem to have, probably too fucked up to. Or he reckons that they're used to it, because its not like this place's known for being particularly safe and friendly. Los Angeles can be unruly like that.  
  
  


Well now the man’s on the floor, a ribbon of blood seeping out of his head. A disgusting lump of flesh in clothes that are too nice for him. Zhengting’s frozen against the wall, his expression unreadable. There’s a bit of blood stained on his shirt.  
  
  


Xukun's hands start shaking. Really fucking bad. And he swears the pit in his stomach is going to swallow him whole. Maybe he’d like that. But he ignores all of these feelings, and runs forward. No time to waste. Rummages through the body’s pockets in a few seconds, including the ones hidden inside the jacket. He’s fast, but it’s slower than what he can do usually when his hands aren’t shaking. Only grabs the shit he thinks has value. A wallet that looks thick with promises. Jackpot. But he doesn’t bother to inspect it too carefully now. And he also grabs a string of keys.  
  
  


“Let’s go.”  
  
  


He presses the lock button twice on the keys and a single beep comes from the distance. He runs to the car he’s identified. Opens the front door, frantically opens and closes compartments. Zhengting helps. They find some extra twenty dollar bills but otherwise not much except a queer metal case. It’s interesting enough so they take it. They run back to their own car. It takes them a minute or two at most for all of that. They’re quick. Too quick for anybody to notice.  
  
  


And they get the hell out of there.  
  
  


Xukun drives and drives. For at least 40 minutes. He has to smoke seven cigarettes to calm himself down. It’s completely silent and still between them the whole time. Though there’s a searing and guilt-ridden feeling coursing down his spine the whole time. Irritation. If he’s honest with himself, he’d let himself hurl the car over a ledge and set fire to it himself. Xukun asks him why he doesn't, but he already knows it’s because of the person right next to him.  
  
  


Then he finally pulls over on the side of a freeway once he decides he’s had enough.  
  
  


The clock flashes 2:14 AM.  
  
  


The first thing he does is grab Zhengting by his shirt and he crashes their lips together. It’s impulsive, uncontainable, desperate for something to euthanize his insanity. He’s so high from the way Zhengting responds to him, kissing him back just as frantically like they’ve been starved and they’ll die without it, choked gasps interluding from tight jaws. Xukun feels like a house on fire, a car wreck, pushed over the ledge, and all he can do is consume, straining for air all at the same time, though he’s not _really_ breathing but he doesn’t care, because at least right now he’s not feeling the void in the stomach that’s been eating at him, it’s all just raw heat, addictive and sweet with the roughness of want. He puts his hands on Zhengting’s hips to steady himself, feeling the tension of bone and flesh underneath his clenched grasp, but he’s greedy for more, and his hands start roaming elsewhere, up to his chest, back, shoulders-  
  
  


and then nothing when he feels himself being pushed away. Xukun's mesmerized, staring at Zhengting with his smeared lipstick, mouth agape as he pants, and brows a bit furrowed in a sense of frustration. Xukun wonders why.  
  
  


“Someone touched me back there. That’s not what you promised.” Zhengting's words seem disappointed, angry, but his tone is neutral, like he’s just describing a minor inconvenience.  
  
  


“Sorry."  
  
  


Then Xukun’s vision suddenly goes black. Again. He counts how long it lasts this time, numbering it to the beat of his heart. He thinks it's four seconds but he can't be sure before his vision starts to return in a reverse fission.  
  
  


He looks at Zhengting and wonders why he’s so out of breath. He wonders why there’s a streak of blood on his shirt.  
  
  


Wait.  
  
  


He feels like he knows the answer to both of those thoughts. There's something oddly familiar about it. Like deja-vu. It’s on the tip of his tongue, or rather, his memories. He thinks hard.  
  
  


His mind latches on to a scene. He's kissing Zhengting, feverishly gravitating into him. He doesn't really remember when it happened though. But it happened. He puts the pieces together. So that's probably why Zhengting's all flushed.  
  
  


Okay. He thinks again to figure out why Zhengting's got blood on him, sifting through all the occurrences he recalls.  
  
  


It's all too blurry, hazed, with too many gaps. Nothing he can make sense of.  
  
  


Just can’t remember.  
  
  


He looks at the clock. 2:24 AM. And he wonders how 10 minutes just passed in the few seconds he used to pull over to the side of the freeway.  
  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if it's too ambiguous or not, but the fic will clear up as it goes on a bit more.  
> But thank you for reading, and any feedback will be much appreciated.
> 
> Find me on twitter @baifenzhi9 if you wanna talk to me about fics or IP, I'm always looking for mutuals. :]


	2. Chapter 2

Zhengting thinks Xukun’s kind of insane.  
  
  


From the one day Zhengting’s been with him, he’s already made a lot of conclusions about him. Xukun’s sort of deranged, impulsive at times when he’s feeling too much and then he'll slam whatever’s in his reach, and others he’s still as stone when he gets numb and empty. Not that Zhengting minds, because he can sort of see himself in that. And he can see how his own personality can fit along the unruly edges of Xukun’s.  
  
  


So he decides that he'll stay.  
  
  


But Xukun’s also another kind of weird, because he can’t remember crap.  
  
  


Like last night when they started talking.  
  
  


Zhengting’ll be in the middle of answering one of Xukun’s questions, then the other’ll suddenly do a double-take and interrupt him, and asks the same exact question again that Zhengting was just responding to.  
  
  


It’s weird, but whatever. Zhengting just starts from the beginning. No questions asked.  
  
  


Maybe Xukun was just high or drunk. But Zhengting didn’t see him drink or take drugs besides his cigarettes last night. And if he did drink at the club, it wasn’t much, because he was pretty damn sober when they were racing away.  
  
  


Strange.  
  
  


Anyways, it’s the next morning. Glances at the clock from where he’s laying in the backseat. 6:48 AM. He got about 4 hours of sleep. Fuck. Not feeling as shitty as he expects though. Surprisingly.  
  
  


Xukun’s not in the car.  
  
  


Zhengting sits up and opens the door, asphalt crunching underneath his shoes when he steps on to the ground. Xukun’s sitting on the top of the car, smoking.  
  
  


“Took you long enough.”  
  
  


“Only crazy people wake up earlier than 7:00.”  
  
  


“Guess we’re both crazy then.”  
  
  


Zhengting shrugs. Maybe.  
  
  


“Also, how’d you get that blood stain?” Xukun tilts his chin at him. Suspicion pricks at Zhengting's head. Is he messing around? But Xukun’s expression hides nothing. Gaze rimmed with bemusement and brows slightly knit with question, with lips that have formed into the smallest pout. He almost looks like a kid, except his eyes are too blank, though he finds that aspect kind of hot. But Zhengting can’t trace any form of ingenuity, and he'd know, because he’s good with people, especially since he's made a living by getting close to people, sometimes too close. He can read faces like they're big flashing billboards, even on the most secretive of people.  
  
  


He starts to connect it together. Insanity? Not completely. But maybe. Memory issues? A form of amnesia? More likely. But he isn’t some doctor, he doesn’t know. He also doesn’t know how Xukun would have developed it. Nothing impacted his head yesterday. Maybe it’s because of something that happened far before Zhengting had even met him. But still, there's a lot of holes in the story, lots of things that he still isn’t able to figure out.  
  
  


Okay, none of that matters. Not the problem right now. He doesn’t know how to respond to Xukun. The truth or a lie? Zhengting doesn’t know how he would react to the reality that he killed someone last night. Even though Xukun thinks he _might_ have killed two already, at least this one’s definitely real, because Zhengting was there to witness it. So he doesn’t know if he should break it to Xukun that now he is one-hundred-percent-for-sure a murderer. And that makes the body count three, in theory. Even as unhinged as Xukun seems to be, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’ll be okay with the news.  
  
  


So maybe not. Maybe Zhengting won’t tell him. At least not yet.  
  
  


“You. Grappled with someone for a bit. He had a knife. Got on me.”  
  
  


“Huh. I don't even remember. You okay otherwise?” Xukun sounds casual when he asks. But Zhengting can sense malaise behind his tone.  
  
  


“Yeah.”  
  
  


“Good. Glad we got out of there fine.”  
  
  


Zhengting wants to ask him to recall everything that happened last night. But hesitates for some reason. It doesn’t feel right. He’ll let Xukun tell him things on his own accord, like Zhengting will with him.  
  
  


Xukun interrupts his thoughts. “You ready to check out our spoils?” He remembers that at least. Zhengting really wants to think Xukun’s just messing around because that’s what would make sense, but it really doesn’t feel like it.  
  
  


Zhengting just nods.  
  
  


Xukun jumps down and smoothly lands on the ground, dust kicking up underneath his shoes. They both get back into the car.  
  
  


The wallet has a lot of cash. Zhengting counts it up for them while Xukun starts to pry at the metal case with a pin.  
  
  


$1218. Holy shit.  
  
  


He’s really wondering what kind of person he met yesterday. Mafia member, Zhengting reckons. No, not really, because the man was stupid enough to hang out in clubs like that so carelessly. Maybe a mere messenger or shit. Who cares.  
  
  


On his right, Xukun hits the case with frustration. No luck. The thing's hard as hell so destroying it is probably unlikely.  
  
  


But Zhengting remembers something. He remembers that while they were rifling through the body, Xukun found a small card with four numbers printed on it and threw it aside. Didn’t seem to be anything important but Zhengting had noticed, as he always does.  
  
  


He puts it in the combination. It clicks open. Zhengting starts to wonder what kind of good thing he’s done to get this karma. But he hasn’t. So maybe the universe’s just fucking with him.  
  
  


Another holy shit.  
  
  


The case’s filled to the brink with neatly tied cash. It’s the most money he’s ever seen in one place. He doesn’t even think they need to bother with getting anything from the credit cards. Out of shock, Zhengting smashes the lid back down, fingertips tingling with lightning adrenaline. He’s happy of course, but ridiculously anxious at the same time. Yeah, the universe has to be fucking with him.  
  
  


Xukun starts laughing. “Well, now we’ll be in good care for a while with this.”  
  
  


Zhengting bites the skin of his knuckle and leans back. “Except we still might got the police after us with what you've been up to, and now maybe a gang, because who else is gonna have this much money?"  
  
  


“You think too much. I don’t even care."  
  
  


Zhengting doesn’t know how to reply. Kind of wishes he could be as foolhardy as that.  
  
  


Xukun stretches, limbs straining and tensing then relaxes again and starts up the car. Guess they’re leaving already.  
  
  


“You want me to drive? You’ve been doing all of it, so take a break.”  
  
  


“Nah. I like driving. I like being in control. I can decide whether I wanna crash it or speed off a cliff or just keep it running forward."  
  
  


Zhengting is at a loss for words again.  
  
  


Xukun continues. “Does that make you feel unsafe?”  
  
  


Zhengting thinks Xukun’s sort of funny.  
  
  


Maybe it should. Maybe he should feel a bit uneasy, because it’s clear Xukun doesn’t really give a damn about what he does. But Zhengting’s not even fazed.  
  
  


Because there’s this feeling of assurance Xukun gives him.  
  
  


“Not even close.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


They drive in to another part of the city. Zhengting doesn’t like it here but he doesn’t say anything.  
  
  


“What are we planning here?” he asks.  
  
  


“Spend some of our loot. Like how you should consider replacing that.” Xukun looks at the stain of blood on Zhengting’s shirt. He’d almost forgot about it.  
  
  


“Maybe."  
  
  


He undos the first two buttons of his shirt and folds the stained part back, clipping it with a pin, to hide it before they go out.  
  
  


They slide some cash into their pockets. Nothing too much. Then they step out. Zhengting sticks close to Xukun’s side. Paranoia. He feels uneasy about interacting with normal society again, society without the dirt and bad taste. And he feels like someone’ll find them out, even though he knows that’s almost impossible. But only almost.  
  
  


He glances at Xukun’s face. Unbothered. As expected. Zhengting forces himself to imitate him.  
  
  


They buy a couple of new articles of clothing, some expensive, some not. Zhengting likes Xukun’s taste.  
  
  


Then they stop by a motel. Plan to stay for one day. They don’t know where they’ll head later, but they know it’s not good to stay in one place for long.  
  
  


Zhengting tries to not think about it like Xukun.  
  
  


9:00 PM.  
  
  


They’ve both washed up and changed. Now they take a break from everything and sit in their room.  
  
  


From his bed he watches Xukun shuffle his stack of cards that he bought from a gas station. His veined hands fold and lay out tricks and patterns with them, wrist knocking into the glass of the table as he arranges them around.  
  
  


Zhengting feels sleep dragging at his eyelids. But there’s an instinctual sense of anxiety that won’t let him be swayed over. He hasn’t been able to sleep early or in this sort of peace in years. It feels almost suspicious.  
  
  


But there’s nothing that’s gonna come to wake him up in all manners unpleasant. No calls from disgusting sex-starved men stained with smoke that’ll get his boss to wake Zhengting up at dawn to cater to them, no ways of belittlement when he didn’t earn enough money, no bruises in the morning that he’ll have to cover up with makeup. Yeah, nothing of that.  
  
  


It’s just Xukun over there. Zhengting watches him put down the deck and light a cigarette.  
  
  


Yeah.  
  
  


It’ll be okay.  
  
  


His chest heaves up as he takes a deep breath.  
  
  


For some reason the smell of cigarettes that he used to hated so much is now time comforting.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


They met Xavier the next day at an empty gas station in the dry miasma of dawn.  
  
  


The encounter was ugly, as expected the moment Zhengting saw his familiar greased hair and lanky limbs, so fucking ugly. He just silently listened to his grievances of _“Theo, Theo, why’d you just run off, I’m not getting enough money anymore, who knew so many men only came in for a dirty goddamn whore like you, I’ll fucking kill you for doing that,”_ as he shrank back, scathing with anger and resentment, but he didn’t do anything, because he knew Xavier would be armed, while Xukun just fucking _stood_ there and smoked, watching them like they’re some kind of goddamn television program. More spit and biting words, then Xavier seemed to just get tired of threats and yells, and there was a flash of silver from a knife, ripping a gash into Zhengting’s forearm.  
  
  


Whatever happened after was too quick, but Zhengting’s able to recall it like a record.  
  
  


Xukun whipped forward, grabbing Xavier by his shoulder and dragging him down. He extinguishes the cigarette he was just smoking into the other’s left eye, digging the blazing white tip deep into his retina like an allergy. The scream was terrible. But Xukun wasn’t fazed as he continued like a silent machine on autopilot, not even when he receives some cuts on his hands before he wrestles the knife away from Xavier’s hand to use it against him, kicking and beating at him.  
  
  


Zhengting watches the concrete splatter with red. Listens to the screams, choked yells, the thudding of the impact of flesh on flesh.  
  
  


Strangely, he feels at peace.  
  
  


He watches like he’s watching a storm from the safety of the eye of calm. It's devastating but so fascinating, and there’s nothing he’s going to do about it. Because he can’t, but also because he doesn’t give a shit.  
  
  


Yeah.  
  
  


Because maybe this is redemption.  
  
  


He almost wants to help Xukun.  
  
  


Almost. But he hates the thought of touching Xavier in any form. So he doesn't.  
  
  


But he finally steps in and pulls Xukun away when Xavier falls silent. Dead silent. Or maybe just unconsciously silent. He doesn’t know for sure. He doesn’t care enough to check.  
  
  


Theoretical body count: Up one. Now it's at four.  
  
  


Xukun’s breath is ragged, but he looks strangely calm. He sits down, leans against the tire of the car, blankly looking out at the empty road, like a battered body isn’t next to him, like his hands aren’t streaked with dark crimson and violet bruises.  
  
  


Zhengting sits down next to him, reaching out to brush his long bangs to the side. Xukun’s eyes turn inscrutable, like he suddenly can’t see what’s in front of him.  
  
  


Just like when he shot the gun the other day. Just like in the car the other day.  
  
  


One. Two. Three. Four.  
  
  


Then Xukun seems to snap back.  
  
  


“What… what’s happening?” Xukun at first sounds calm, then he becomes panicked as he sees the blood on himself and Xavier’s body. His breathing gets louder and louder. Zhengting's not as surprised as he thought he would be as he listens to Xukun's confused ranting. “Wait, wait, what’s this? What did I do?” Xukun asks and asks. Zhengting finds it interesting how he’s not all that concerned with the gruesomeness in front of them, but rather how he can’t recall his memories. “Zhengting, Zhengting,” Xukun begs, “I can’t remember, help me, help me."  
  
  


Zhengting wordlessly wraps his arms around Xukun, while his questions and thoughts continue to pour out, choking out from his mouth like shattered glass. “There’s blood on me, why’s there blood on me? He’s dead right? Why can’t I remember though, I don’t remember, I don’t even know who he is, I don’t fucking remember, why, why? I did that right, are you going to hate me? Don’t hate me, Zhengting, Zhengting. I can’t ever remember anything."  
  
  


Zhengting still doesn’t answer. He softly cups Xukun’s face and pulls him in for a kiss instead. Gently. The other finally falls silent.  
  
  


He likes the way Xukun’s bloodstained hands so, so tenderly hold him back.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


9:08 PM.  
  
  


Zhengting walks out of the drugstore, plastic bag in hand. He looks around the parking lot for the car, spots it, and heads over. Opens the backseat door and shakes Xukun awake for what seems like the thousandth time today. It takes a couple of tries. But eventually Xukun stirs. Finally, success. His eyes are bloodshot. He slowly sits up and Zhengting slides in next to him.  
  
  


The contents of the bag pour out. Antibiotics, gauze, sleeping pills, towel, water bottles, lozenge candy, a pack of cigarettes.  
  
  


He reaches up to turn on the light, pours water into the towel, starts wiping the red off Xukun’s hands. Sometimes Zhengting thinks he might have pressed too hard on the cuts and bruises, but Xukun doesn’t make a noise.  
  
  


“Can’t believe you passed out for 18 hours, just like that."  
  
  


No response.  
  
  


They watch the white towel become soaked with the color of rust.  
  
  


Zhengting moves on to rub ointment to Xukun’s hands. His own fingers run along the rough ridges and indents of Xukun's knuckles and bones so carefully, and even more so when Zhengting touches the purple bruises and scarlet slashes. Then patches it up with gauze. He’s acutely aware of how Xukun's staring at him like he’s a cosmic quasar.  
  
  


“What about you?” Xukun’s voice is hoarse.  
  
  


“What?”  
  
  


“The gash on your arm.”  
  
  


Huh. Weird how Xukun remembers something as specific as that. Zhengting doesn’t make a comment about it. He glances at the gauze he had wrapped around his forearm earlier.  
  
  


“I already took care of it.”  
  
  


“Oh."  
  
  


Xukun reaches for the cigarettes. His bandaged fingers are too stiff to tear through the plastic wrapping. So Zhengting does it for him, and lights one up for him too.  
  
  


“Do you hate me?”  
  
  


“You keep asking that.”  
  
  


“Do you hate me?”  
  
  


“No.”  
  
  


“Okay. I’m glad then.”  
  
  


“You know, I actually think I’m thankful to you.”  
  
  


Yeah. Because now Zhengting for sure won't ever see _him_ again. _He's_ finally, finally dead and gone. Zhengting won't be haunted by the possibility of returning to _that_ anymore.  
  
  


Xukun laughs. “Then you’re fucked in the head. I don’t do anything good."  
  
  


Maybe. But Zhengting doesn’t mind.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


They’re back again. Though it’s a different highway this time.  
  
  


Xukun’s sprawled out on the black concrete again, long limbs folded out, staring up at the 2 AM sky. And this time Zhengting joins him, even though his instincts scream in protest, watching the trees, guardrails, buildings tilt away from his vision and feeling the cracks of the road scrape against his shoes as he settles down on the ground. The sound of rushing of cars in the distance makes him feel uneasy but he forces it away and looks up at the sky. Doesn’t see anything. It’s just total blackness. Whatever is up in the sky is blocked by smog and smoke. He glances to his right at Xukun’s profile and wonders what he’s looking at.  
  
  


Zhengting wants to know. He wants to know what Xukun’s thinking, what’s with him, who he is.  
  
  


But at the same time he feels like it’s fine if he doesn’t know.  
  
  


In Zhengting's peripheral vision, he can see Xukun reach upwards at the sky with his bandaged hands, like he’s grasping at something only he can see.  
  
  


Maybe the plain blackness means something to him.  
  
  


* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a bit slow to update and future chapters will not be published much quicker, unfortunately.
> 
> Thank you for the patience!


	3. Chapter 3

The black hole of guilt in his stomach seems to have widened.  
  
  


Xukun knows he’s not remembering everything. He knows there’s shit that’s missing from his memories.  
  
  


All he can recall of the recent is blood. A fight. Then collapsing into Zhengting. A feeling of intimacy between them that he can’t make out clearly. Those moments are too faint and hazed, like they happened months, years ago, in a dust storm that tugs down his eyelids of another life. Everything else afterwards is as clear as reflections in a mirror though. Zhengting bandaging up his hands, Zhengting driving them, Zhengting joining him to bask in the middle of the freeway, Zhengting, Zhengting, Zhengting.  
  
  


He should ask. He should ask Zhengting about everything, everything that’s happened from the day they met.  
  
  


However, he's not stupid. He can guess some of what’s happened with the evidence he wakes up to. Though sometimes he thinks he forgets those guesses too.  
  
  


But they’re only guesses anyways. He doesn’t know for sure. He doesn’t think he wants to know for sure.  
  
  


Because Xukun knows better. He knows that sometimes it’s just better to not know. Ignorance is bliss, as they say, though he doesn’t remember where he heard that. So he doesn’t ask. And Zhengting doesn’t tell him. They just go on. They just keep running, from whatever it is they’re each running from.  
  
  


Because maybe they both know better.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


_“There’s something wrong with my head.”_  
  
  


_“I know.”_  
  
  


_“I can’t really remember shit.”_  
  
  


_“I know.”_  
  
  


_“I always remember you though.”_  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


It turns out the fallout at the gas station days ago isn’t the last of their troubles.  
  
  


But the predicaments they get into now aren't as personal as the first time.  
  
  


Sometimes they are chased, opponent cars skidding and screaming behind or next to them, while Xukun keeps a tight grin and even tighter hand on the wheel and Zhengting looks both like he’s anxious out of his mind and like he’s having the time of his life, the car swiveling around the road, Xukun stepping hard on the gas, listening to the bullets that sometimes machine gun into the car's doors. It sounds like meteorites hitting against them, but looks like a scattered array of inverted-colored stars of black dots against white when they finally lose their pursuers and step out to inspect the damage (but it’s not like they’re even gonna bother with getting it fixed).  
  
  


Sometimes it's mobsters chasing, sometimes it’s the police.  
  
  


Xukun and Zhengting don’t know why they chase. Well, not exactly, they probably know what the two of them have done. They’re a little curious though, because how did they found out?  
  
  


But it’s not like they’re gonna stop to ask.  
  
  


And It all turns out to be fun, along with the cuts and bruises from fighting and the occasional crash.  
  
  


Xukun likes the adrenaline all of it gives him. Likes the way it makes him stop feeling anything else but that high strung excitement, likes the way it makes him feel like there’s no such thing as time, with no past or future, it’s all just in the moment.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


The bathroom stall makes him feel claustrophobic, and it doesn’t help that his throbbing headache delusions him into thinking the black cold walls are closing in on him even more like a pack of starving wolves.  
  
  


But it’s the only place where they can catch a break for now, so he just closes his eyes to wallow it out as he waits for Zhengting, his head roughly hitting the stall wall when he relaxes his frame, splayed out on the dirt-streaked tile floor, cracks of brown on white and white. Feels the hot blood from the crescent engraved on his bottom lip leak in slow perfect teardrops out like a faucet that hasn’t closed all the way. The copper taste of red is hammered nail-deep on his tongue, stained on his teeth, and probably cluttered underneath his fingernails too. His eyes feel as red as his mouth tastes. He wants to throw up. Wants to pass out and sleep the pain out. But he knows its not a good idea, because he might not wake up. Usually, he wouldn’t mind such a prospect, but he minds now because he isn’t about to leave a dead body behind for Zhengting to find.  
  
  


The door suddenly thuds and his eyes snap open. He looks up and watches Zhengting nimbly climb over the top of the stall, door jerking on its hinges as he shifts around, then he steps on to the toilet seat and hops down to the ground. Crouches down to where Xukun’s sprawled on the ground like a doll. Reaches out and gently brushes the swollen, scarlet incision on his lip. Xukun feels pain flower in the back of his eyes. His hands clench and strain in agitation on his thighs, arduous hot breath funneling out, more sweat beading on his neck.  
  
  


Zhengting finally lets go. The pain stops. Xukun's breathing steadies again.  
  
  


Then Zhengting moves his hands down and unsticks Xukun’s stained shirt to reveal his abdomen. He knows it doesn’t look pretty. It sure as hell doesn’t feel like it.  
  
  


When Zhengting touches again, this time with paper towels and gauze, Xukun thinks he’s gonna black out from the pain. But he grits his teeth and toughs it out. He tastes metal again when his teeth slip and crash into the flesh of his lips. Fire streams down his spine. Muscles burn from tension. Sweats builds up at his neck. Breathing gets unsteadier by the minute. It comes out as rasps. Soon his lungs start feeling as sore as the injuries on his stomach. The only noise are his pained gasps.  
  
  


But through the static of agony he keeps watching Zhengting in the dimness of the yellow-sick fluorescent lights as he patches him up. The way his pretty face earnestly immerses himself in it, dark eyes diligent and concerned, unfazed by the gore, lips slightly slacked apart in concentration. The way he looks back up to Xukun’s eyes once he’s done, gaze full of tender worry, like he’s tending a pitiful innocent kid that’s got a cold and not a fucking maniac that’s laying in a pool of his own blood because that’s his idea of fun. The way Zhengting reaches out to gently brush his cheek and cup his face with his pale lithe fingers spoiled with his blood.  
  
  


The way he’s always there.  
  
  


Then pain returns to Xukun’s lip. Zhengting’s got his thumb on it again.  
  
  


It hurts. A lot.  
  
  


He feels Zhengting trace his lips. The taste of blood spreads along with it.  
  
  


“It looks like lipstick. You look pretty.”  
  
  


Xukun wants to laugh. But he can’t because it’ll be too agonizing. He forces a smirk as much as he’ll let himself.  
  
  


“You’re sick.”  
  
  


Zhengting smiles back silently. His finger continues to press on his mouth.  
  
  


It hurts. Xukun wonders if Zhengting knows. He wonders if he likes it.  
  
  


Staggering, stunning pain, bright as stars and loud as thunderstorms blossoms when Zhengting kisses him.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


He knows he’s a terrible person when he comes to his senses in bed with a half-naked girl, a surprise he didn’t ask for. And Zhengting’s at the door threshold, expression so cold it’s like fire. He tells her to get out of their hotel room, gaze sharp, tone sharper. She dresses herself quickly, no questions asked, like she’s used to this, and storms out with agitated magenta flair. Door slams behind her.  
  
  


The atmosphere shrills between them.  
  
  


Xukun sits up and starts looking around. Sees his shirt on the floor and puts his hand to his chest in realization that it’s bare. Thankfully, it’s only that. He didn’t get far with the girl, with... whatever they were doing. He doesn’t wanna think about it. Meanwhile, Zhengting looks like he only just walked in the room, still carrying a bag of stuff he probably bought from a nearby store. And Xukun swallows with guilt. He feels like he’s swallowing sand. He knows its probably filled with more medicine. For him.  
  
  


“What were you doing?” Zhengting’s voice is soft and stoic and disappointed all at the same time. Xukun feels his heart dip into his stomach. He swallows. Thinks hard.  
  
  


He grasps on to a scene. He was bored, and went out for a walk while Zhengting was out… shopping, it seems now. And that’s it. Everything between then and now is gone. He doesn’t know why he had a girl with him, doesn’t even know when he came back to the hotel room. Xukun bites his lip out of annoyance with himself.  
  
  


Then shakes his head. “I...I don’t remember. I don’t know why she was with me. I don’t even remember when i left the room."  
  
  


Zhengting’s expression is unreadable. Xukun feels like he’s in a precarious position. For some reason he can’t figure out why.  
  
  


Because those moments of intimacy between them- the ones he remembers at least, he bets half of them have escaped his memories- are ambiguous. They don’t ever talk about it afterwards those minutes of spontaneity. There isn’t any label attached between them- so there’s no reason why he can’t be playing around with girls.  
  
  


Silence is his only reply.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


Sometimes he remembers, in those moments where he’s sitting on the hood of the car, watching the tides of headlights course down the highway.  
  
  


Sometimes Xukun remembers his little mob, or his pack as he likes to think of them, with their bared teeth clenched around sooty cigarettes, big moon grins and bright wild eyes, high on fast cars and girls and steel guns, lots of them, sometimes accented with knives. _Those crazy fuckers from China_ , those other people labeled them, and how they used to tear down through the foreign streets. He loved it all, loved them all, the games and the euphoria, the raw youth and rush, those pure good-natured smiles and brotherly hugs behind their ripped bloody knuckles and stained shoes, those troubled kids that just didn’t _feel_ like living normally, because they just couldn’t manage to be those impossible perfect-printed and cut kids they were expected of.  
  
  


Yeah.  
  
  


And then he also remembers how it all came crashing down, when Xukun killed one of them, their little “prince” — they said he was a prince, because he was the only one that was sort of still attached to normal society and the wealth spilling from his skin was immeasurable — but he wasn’t as princely as seemed, and how easily those links of brotherhood whipped around and marked splatters of black and red in the back of his eyes, then the dizzying conundrum of police sirens, too many of them, and then he ran, just ran.  
  
  


But it goes as quickly as the memories flood back.  
  
  


He forgets it all again.  
  
  


The blackness in his head just swallows them back up.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for long wait. Got busy and stuck with how I wanted the story to progress for a long time but I think I'm back on track with it now? Maybe?
> 
> Kudos and comments much appreciated!


End file.
